


The Case of the Magical Sex Goblet

by Pic_Akai



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gender or Sex Swap, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 07:39:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5860069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pic_Akai/pseuds/Pic_Akai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Essentially, crack!porn. Lestrade and Sherlock accidentally trigger a magic goblet which causes Sherlock’s genitals to change to female and them to need to have sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Magical Sex Goblet

**Author's Note:**

> Er…sophisticated, this is not. It is neither the height of crack nor porn, but there’s a market for everything, so if mediocre crack!porn is your thing, please enjoy.

“Police!” Lestrade called, after pounding on the door three times in quick succession.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Sherlock said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a set of lock picks. “I told you, he’s at work.”

Before Lestrade had even managed to say, “Sherlock!” in aghast tones, the door was open.

“Terrible security,” said Sherlock, opening it and walking in, “but then he is stupid enough to hide a priceless artefact in his own flat, so I can’t say I’m surprised.” He took in the details of the place with a sweeping glance, and headed for the bedroom.

“You cannot just break into someone’s flat, Sherlock,” Lestrade said, still annoyingly following him. He’d shut the front door behind them, like a good guest.

“Well, you were going to, I just saved you the trouble of breaking down the door,” said Sherlock, already in the wardrobe. The thief had for some reason imagined that bags full of clothes, boxes of various action figures and loose hangers were an appropriate security system. He started sifting. The cup they sought was unfortunately made from a rather light alloy, so it could be hidden in any of the bags.

“I was not going to break down the bloody door,” said Lestrade, crouching down next to him. He didn’t help, but he wasn’t trying to stop Sherlock either. “I would have come back later at a time when the suspect was at home and conducted a proper and legal search. Your say-so isn’t enough to go on for breaking in, even if this is priceless.”

Sherlock paused for long enough to glare at him and let that sink in, then kept on looking.

“Aha!” said Sherlock, spotting gold underneath the faded red and blue of a rugby jersey. He pulled out the jersey, then the cup – 

Then yelped involuntarily as a sudden bolt of _something_ swept through him. It wasn’t quite pain, but also not pleasurable, and then something else was…

“Sherlock?” Lestrade asked, looking worried, as Sherlock realised with horror what the result of the shock was. He looked down at himself, futilely, then began undoing his trousers. “Sherlock!” Lestrade said again, but he was ignored as Sherlock managed to get the zip open and he shoved them and his pants down to find…

Nothing.

Or rather, not what was supposed to be there.

“Wh-” Lestrade made an abortive sound, then uncharacteristically wisely, shut up.

Sherlock looked at his crotch.

There was hair, which there usually was. Then beneath, nothing. At least, nothing he could see. He reached a hand down, resting it first gently where he could see and then letting it slide slowly further down, so his hand cupped the mound. He could still just feel hair. He vaguely registered, in his peripheral vision, Lestrade turning his head away and sitting back, but not moving from where he was. Sherlock pressed a little with his fingertips, and there was give, and then suddenly his middle finger went _in_ , to a place where there was never an in before, and he started and pulled his hand away.

He looked up again, away from the confusion between his legs, and found Lestrade’s gaze in the mirrored left-hand door of the wardrobe. Lestrade looked quite disturbed, which Sherlock felt really wasn’t fair, since he wasn’t the one who’d been robbed of his genitals.

He opened his mouth to make this point, but Lestrade got there first. “Look,” he said quickly, “I am not here to judge you, but this is not the right time or place to be…exploring.” He paused. “Can you get dressed?”

“I am missing my penis, Lestrade!” said Sherlock, feeling very annoyed – a not uncommon emotion around other people. It wasn’t helped by the fact that he’d begun to feel a bit hot, sort of itchy, and there was a large part of his consciousness that was urging him to explore his new area further. Normally, that wouldn’t have been a problem – curiosity being one of his highest priorities – but missing a part of his body which had been there only seconds ago seemed to be more important, for now.

“Did it…fall out?” Lestrade asked, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

It took several moments for Sherlock to process this statement for the truly moronic thing that it was, before he could reply, “It’s not detachable!”

Lestrade looked confused, which was at least one thoroughly normal occurrence.

Sherlock looked back down at his crotch, with its missing penis and what, he was beginning to suspect, might in fact be a vagina, and contemplated what to do next. Slightly behind him, he heard Lestrade take several intakes of breath, as though he were preparing to say something but stopping himself.

Eventually Sherlock decided that the thing to do, given all factors, was to investigate what was in front of him to investigate, and so he put his hand back into place and pressed that finger in again.

It was warm – very warm – and, if not quite wet, definitely lubricated. He pressed in further and catalogued the sensations, how it wasn’t just a finger-sized hole but more of a space, except hidden-

“Are you seriously going to continue to sit there wanking while I’m here?” Lestrade burst out, having found his voice.

Sherlock looked round, annoyed again, but didn’t move his hand. “I’m not ‘wanking’,” he said. “I’m gathering data. It’s quite difficult to wank when one’s penis has been removed, anyway.”

“Sorry, but can you just run that one by me again?” Lestrade said. “When exactly did your penis disappear?”

“About when I touched _that_ ,” Sherlock said, nodding his head at the cup where he’d dropped it. It sat looking non-threatening on the pile of clothes.

“This?” Lestrade said, reaching out for it, and because Sherlock hadn’t thought even _he_ was stupid enough to touch an item which was so clearly dangerous, he hadn’t been prepared to warn him before he picked it up, and subsequently shouted, “Ah!” and dropped it again.

“You are a moron of the highest order,” said Sherlock, wiggling his fingertip a little and feeling pleased with the sensation it evoked, whilst still glaring at Lestrade.

Lestrade looked stunned and stupid, and then hurriedly undid his own trousers and pushed them down.

Both men stared at Lestrade’s penis, which looked to Sherlock to be quite ordinary.

“Is that what it normally looks like?” Sherlock asked.

“Piss off,” said Lestrade, still looking at it, and then when Sherlock didn’t reply because he wasn’t sure what he’d done, he looked up. “Oh. Sorry. Genuine question. Yeah, that’s...normal.” He grabbed it and jiggled it about a bit. “Feels like normal.”

Sherlock scowled, except there was less heat in it than previously. This might have been because there was rather more heat between his legs. The itching feeling had jumped up several notches, and the curiosity was far too much now to ignore.

“Just me, then,” he said, deciding the time had come to explore this further, and thinking about what he’d gleaned from textbooks, documentaries and John’s rather sizeable collection of pornography, he used two fingers to spread the lips of his vulva.

“You can’t-“ said Lestrade, as he did, but the protest died out. Sherlock looked up at him, wondering why he was complaining.

Lestrade’s eyes met his. They stared at one another, as Sherlock held his lips open, then began to move his fingers, stretching the skin, applying different levels of pressure, getting to know this body.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” Lestrade said, almost in a whisper.

“Why?” asked Sherlock, pushing a finger inside again. His body tensed, then relaxed. It felt good, but not enough.

“Because…” Lestrade looked away from him, then flicked back, but he couldn’t keep his gaze on Sherlock’s face. “Because it’s making me want to do things to you.”

At that precise moment, Sherlock couldn’t see a single thing wrong with that statement. “So?” he said, deliberately making it sound like a challenge. He shuffled back a little so they were right next to each other, and shoved his clothes down further. “Do them.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Lestrade said, drawing it out, and then after about a second’s pause, he moved. “Get up,” he said, standing and pulling at Sherlock. Sherlock went, almost falling as he stood and suddenly remembered his trousers were around his ankles, but Lestrade held him. “No, get them off.”

Lestrade was pulling off his own coat and jacket, then tie, and Sherlock watched him for a few seconds before realising he was meant to join in, and bent down to untie his shoelaces.

Lestrade made a funny sound and then Sherlock jumped, and was steadied, as Lestrade’s hand gripped his buttock, just one fingertip grazing at his new entrance. “Fucking – could just do you here.”

Sherlock worked on his laces with trembling fingers, and then found he couldn’t continue without falling over, so dropped ungainly to the floor to take the shoes off and shove his trousers and pants all the way off. He stayed seated as he undid the buttons on his upper half, staring up at Lestrade, who was by now shirtless and toeing his shoes and socks off as he stood, because he apparently had enough poise to do that.

As soon as Sherlock was naked, Lestrade hauled him up and shoved him towards the bed. They fell down onto it, Sherlock immediately bringing his legs up to wrap around Lestrade’s and pull him into him. The sensation of another body pressed against his, particularly in the genital region, was something which ordinarily would have seemed at the least incredibly uncomfortable, but for now was all he could imagine wanting.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” said Lestrade, pressing his hips down and breathing into Sherlock’s neck, “but first I wanna check you out.”

He started to move away, and Sherlock keened, feeling the loss. “It’s all right,” Lestrade promised him, giving his most honest face, which had always incongruously helped Sherlock to feel like things maybe wouldn’t be as bad as they were. “I’m not going anywhere. I just want to-“

He cut himself off as he used both hands to spread Sherlock’s labia apart, and there was a moment of unbearable tension before he leaned forward and stuck his tongue flat against Sherlock’s vulva.

Sherlock’s hands fisted tightly at his sides and his entire body tensed as Lestrade let his tongue rest there for a moment before licking, several times, broad stripes upwards.

When that stopped, Sherlock dropped his eyes from the ceiling back to Lestrade’s face. Lestrade was grinning. “You’ve got a lovely pussy here,” he said, and Sherlock stared at him, feeling stupid. “I’m gonna enjoy eating you out.”

He rubbed one of his thumbs at the entrance, pushing but not so much that he entered, though Sherlock wished he would. All of his nerve endings seemed to have moved and gathered between his legs, and all he wanted was for Lestrade to keep paying attention to his – pussy? – and not stop.

Lestrade dipped his head again and then practically shoved his face into Sherlock’s crotch, almost kissing him, mouthing all the little bits of skin, sticking his tongue between the folds and then inside, then out again. It really did feel as though he were eating Sherlock, except without teeth, and it was glorious.

Then he moved his attention upward, just by a fraction, and he was sucking at what Sherlock knew to be his clitoris, occasionally tonguing it and encouraging the hood to retract before letting it slip back down again.

Sherlock lay there for several extended moments, lasting both forever and never long enough, as Lestrade licked and tongued and sucked between his legs, and the heat built and built. He felt himself getting wetter, far wetter than Lestrade’s saliva would account for, but Lestrade tongued most of this fluid up, apparently entirely happy to do so.

Eventually it became almost uncomfortable, like each movement was a tickle just this side of painful, and Sherlock began to say something before Lestrade pulled his mouth back a fraction, then used his thumbs to push back the clitoral hood and returned his tongue to the glans, licking in tiny, slow circles, so that Sherlock fancied he could feel every ridge and bump on Lestrade’s tongue. And suddenly the edge had approached, and Sherlock pushed his hips down into the bed and gasped as he experienced the familiar, but definitely not the same as usual, sensation of orgasm.

He breathed heavily as Lestrade looked up at him, grinning again, and said, “Never thought I’d eat Sherlock Holmes’s pussy, but stranger things have happened.”

Sherlock wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he lay back, trying to enjoy the few moments of muzzy-headedness that followed orgasm and slowed down his thinking processes. Except now, the relief wasn’t there and he still felt like he needed more.

“I need penetration,” Sherlock announced, without looking at Lestrade.

“That’s handy,” Lestrade replied, “because I think if I don’t fuck you…” Sherlock looked as he trailed off, to see Lestrade stroking himself in long, careful pulls, despite the fact that he was clearly very erect already. A drop of fluid started to gather at the very tip.

“Now,” Sherlock growled, and Lestrade jumped a little and raised his eyebrows. Then he acquiesced, leaning forward over Sherlock, and placed his cock against Sherlock’s entrance-

Except then he didn’t press forward, and Sherlock looked at him in despair.

Lestrade breathed carefully, crouched above Sherlock’s body. He was holding his cock in his right hand, and he began very carefully stroking the tip up and down Sherlock’s entrance, letting it catch a little at the clitoris then pull away before he pushed back down again. He did this a few times as Sherlock lay there, enjoying it whilst simultaneously wishing desperately he’d just shove it in.

Then Lestrade pressed forward, just enough so the head of his cock was resting inside Sherlock. He held himself in that position for long moments, as Sherlock too stayed frozen.

“Please,” Sherlock said when everything felt too much, “just fuck me.”

Lestrade breathed in suddenly, met his eyes and said, “Yeah, all right,” and then he pushed in.

It was an utterly strange sensation, this feeling of fullness. He could feel Lestrade’s cock pressing against his inner walls (which until recently had not existed in that form), their ridges dragging against one another as Lestrade carefully drew out, then back in again.

Sherlock pulled his knees up, resting his feet flat against the mattress, which felt even better. He heard Lestrade groan.

Lestrade didn’t fuck him for long. He’d been waiting for much longer than Sherlock to orgasm, and before long he was gripping at Sherlock’s waist, pulling them even closer together as he swore quietly and his cock pulsed inside Sherlock, emptying itself inside him.

It was approximately three seconds before everything suddenly felt very wrong, and Sherlock tried to drag himself up the bed whilst at the same time shoving Lestrade away from him. The bolt came again, and then – 

His penis was back, lying there between his legs like it’d been there all the time and the whole thing had been some freak hallucination.

Sherlock finally managed to tear his eyes away from it, looking up to see Lestrade balanced just at the very end of the bed, still stark naked and not entirely flaccid yet, and seemingly quite terrified.

“My penis has grown back,” Sherlock said, to test the waters.

Lestrade opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if checking to see if his jaw worked, before managing to spit out, “Yeah, it has.”

Sherlock thought for a moment. “Did we just have sex?”

“I… I think so. But not…”

“Not with this equipment,” Sherlock supplied helpfully. Lestrade nodded slowly.

“I’ll just-” Lestrade said after several seconds of silence, and he gestured towards their clothes before climbing carefully off the bed, moving so that his back wasn’t to Sherlock at any point. Sherlock frowned.

“Why are you being so awkward now?” he asked. “I’m sorry if my current body abhors you, but I didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter.” He got up, irritated, and started to pick up his own clothes as well.

“What?” asked Lestrade, stupid again, and then said, “Oh. No! No, I don’t – I just mean, are you all right? This isn’t exactly – well let’s just say every other time I’ve had sex it has not involved a…magic goblet.”

Sherlock put his shirt on. “And yet again the Met send their finest to state the blindingly obvious. Well, my apologies for the lack of a magic vagina.”

“I don’t care if you have a fucking vagina, Sherlock, I just want to know if you’re all right!”

Sherlock paused in the act of doing up his trousers. Lestrade looked frustrated, but he wasn’t lying. He felt a little ashamed, but not nearly enough to do anything about it. “I’m all right,” he said quietly.

“Good,” breathed Lestrade, and they continued dressing in silence.

Just as soon as he’d tied his second shoelace, because it meant he could leave immediately if the answer was wrong, Sherlock asked, “Do you really not care about my genitals?”

Lestrade looked at him, and then apparently understood, because he said, “I’ve slept with men before.” He seemed to be waiting for Sherlock to reply, but Sherlock couldn’t, it was too high a risk. It seemed to be something that was going to be kept as this bizarre moment in an otherwise banal case, definitely not going in John’s blog, until Lestrade said, “I wouldn’t mind trying again. Without the magic goblet.”

Sherlock didn’t smile, but said instead, “Do you think our secretions are now part of the crime scene?” and when Lestrade pulled a pained face, the world was back on its axis. Except with a little more sex in its future.


End file.
